


If Love Isn't Madness Then It Is Not Love

by quelleheureestil



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, Monster of the Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2749769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quelleheureestil/pseuds/quelleheureestil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts out hard, so very hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Love Isn't Madness Then It Is Not Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mushiemadarame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushiemadarame/gifts).



> Rated Teen for a bit of gore (nothing bad, but better safe than sorry!)

_It starts out hard, so very hard._

“It’s tearing up my heart, when I’m with—Jesus Christ, Derek!” Stiles leaps out of his desk chair and helps Derek through the window. Stiles can see a big gash in his leg through Derek’s ripped jeans. He sets Derek on the edge of his bed, returns to his spot on his chair, and wheels closer to Derek.  “Are you alright? What happened?”

 

“Gimme everything you have on giant skeletal creatures that hang out in the woods.” Derek checks the gash and winces as he watches it sew itself shut. Stiles watches too, but mainly because no matter how many times he sees it happen, it’s still the coolest thing ever.

 

“You mean Slender Man.” Seriously? Is there nothing that’s fake?

“Slender Man’s not real, Stiles.”

 

“Then you’re going to have to give me a little more to go off of, big guy.”

 

“Sorry I can’t give you a detailed sketch. I was busy, you know, running for my life and all.”

 

“Now you’re just being dramatic. It was just a little cut that healed in like two seconds.”

“Stiles…”

 

“C’mon, you don’t scare me anymore.” Derek flashes his eyes Stiles, gets off the bed, and with a clawed hand, turns Stiles around to face the computer. Stiles feels his heart begin to race, and he mentally curses his body for giving him away. Stiles groans. “Fine. What else can you give me?” Derek leans against Stiles’ computer desk with a satisfied smirk on his face of the “there and gone” variety. In the next moment, Derek’s back to his normal slight frown, and he’s recounting his story of what happened in the woods.

 

“I was on a run in the preserve when…”

 

_And it just keeps getting harder and harder._

 

“Jesus, Derek! Are you trying to kill them?” Stiles had just walked in on Derek throwing Isaac into a wall. He lands with a thump on top of Erica and Boyd, both cowering over different injuries.

 

“They need to be able to defend themselves, especially with whatever the hell is lurking in the woods. How else will they learn?” Derek growls, turning his glare towards Stiles.

 

“I don’t know, maybe teach them?” Stiles flails his arms and knocks his elbow off one of the exposed beams in the loft. Derek sniffs and turns his back on Stiles.

 

“Go home, Stiles.”

 

“Like hell I am.” Derek whips around, pinning Stiles with a glare.

 

“Stiles. Go. Home. Before I make you.” Oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong. Stiles holds his ground, glaring back with arms crossed over his chest.

 

“I’ll go home when they do,” Stiles threatens. Normally the promise of his impending obnoxiousness is enough to move mountains, but it doesn’t look like Derek’s buying it.

 

“They’re not going anywhere.”

 

“Then neither am I.” Derek pinches the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb and closes his eyes.

 

“You don’t understand. Just go home, Stiles.” Stiles looks pointedly at the three betas who are now looking on, amusement written all over their faces. Their smiles drop and faces turn white as Derek’s red gaze turns to them. “Out. Everyone out. Get _out_!”

 

Stiles trips on his own feet on his way out, while the beta’s move with grace despite the heavy weight of an alpha’s order. Stiles’ movement is impeded by a heavy weight on his right shoulder.

 

“No, no, not you, Stiles. You wanted to stay. We’ve got research to do.” Which means Stiles will be researching, and Derek will be doing… Whatever Derek does. Great. Stiles grumbles as he goes to the bookshelf to get the books he needs while Derek fucks off to wherever.

 

_But you know what they say: When going through hell…_

“Did you even have a plan?” Derek shouts from where he’s taking cover behind a wooden crate.

 

The research had led them to believe that the thing that attacked Derek was a form of a pissed off forest spirit; however, while Stiles was flipping through the bestiary earlier trying to find something, anything to help, he realized that they might be in a little more trouble than they thought.

 

“Sure, I did,” Stiles snaps. And he did. He and Scott were supposed to go find the wendigo together. But then Allison showed up, and, honestly, Stiles doesn’t want to know what’s happening with the whole Allison/Scott/Isaac thing. So, Stiles went to locate the thing by himself, but he had Scott’s number pre-dialed. Just in case, you know?

 

Then shit hit the fan. And Scott didn’t pick up. Leaving Stiles to either die an early, and probably really painful, death or call Derek. Surprisingly, the choice was clearer than he thought.

 

“Oh yeah? And how’s that going?” Derek manages to get out before diving out of the way from a swinging wendigo.

 

“Fucking fantastic,” Stiles mumbles to himself, trying to dial Scott again. The wendigo corners Derek, so he has no choice left but to fight. Every hit Derek lands slows the wendigo down, but it doesn’t seems to have a lasting impact.

 

“ _Hey, it’s Scott McCall. Leave a-_ ” Stiles ends the call. He can see Derek’s swings slowing down; he’s getting tired. The bestiary said the only way to kill a wendigo was to “light up it’s heart where it’s originally dark.” Fucking cryptic motherfucker.

 

There are a few things to eliminate: Stiles doubts that any of that Disney bullshit is actually true, so that means there’s not going to be a miraculous reunion. Derek’s punches are getting weaker and sloppy. The wendigo’s now landing a few scratches. An actual light would be stupid… But maybe… Fire?

  
Why does everything revolve around fire?

 

In Stiles’ handy-dandy monster bag, he could probably throw together a makeshift Molotov: rubbing alcohol and gauze for injuries, lighter for treating wolfbane bullets; the only problem is Stiles wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot of the wendigo. Derek’s too close, but Stiles doesn’t have that much time. Derek’s now shouting for Stiles to get out of here, to take the jeep and leave.

 

Stiles sees an easy solution, curses, and shakes his head. Sneaking around behind the wendigo, Stiles starts talking, quietly enough that the wendigo won’t hear but loud enough for a werewolf.

 

“There’s ingredients for a Molotov in my bag on your four o’clock. The bestiary said light up its heart, so aim for its chest, okay?”

 

“Stiles? Wha-?” Derek is panting. There’s not much time.

 

Stiles gulps, takes a deep breath, then jumps.

 

_…Keep going._

 

Stiles executes a choke hold like his dad taught him. The wendigo thrashes at this weight that now bears down on it, and its all Stiles can do to hold on. He can feel piercing scratches tearing at his forearms, and he prays for Derek to hurry up. Another thrash and Stiles hears a _pop_. A white-hot brand pulses through his left shoulder, and Stiles dimly thinks that his shoulder dislocated.

 

Stiles then hears a shout, a thud, and acknowledges a heat now eating at his arms. Somehow, it connects that Derek threw the Molotov, so Stiles unclenches everything. As soon as he hits the ground, he uses his legs to propel himself as far away from the burning mass in front of him as possible until he cracks his head against something hard. His vision swims with dark spots.

 

Suddenly, Derek’s face appears right above him.

 

“Stiles!” He tries to say something, anything. Ask if Derek’s okay, ask if the wendigo’s dead, ask if Scott ever showed up, but all Stiles can do is turn his head and throw up. He feels like one ball of pain with origins radiating in his head, his shoulder, and his arms.

 

“Stay with me, Stiles!” Derek is shouting, and there’s a crease in between his eyebrows that gives Derek an expression that Stiles has never seen before. He raises a hand to smooth the crease but notices that his hand is completely red. Spreading his fingers to examine his hand, Stiles wonders over what the red could be.

 

“C’mon, Stiles. You can’t die on me.” Derek picks Stiles up bridal style, and the whole world tilts and fades to black for a few moments. When Stiles fades back in, he’s in the back of his Jeep, and Derek’s pushing his baby faster than he thought she could go. Derek’s talking to him: “Hey, hey, hey. Stay with me, Stiles. We’re almost to Deaton’s. He’ll fix you up, okay? Just stay awake.” But Stiles is just _so_ tired and the black is clawing its way to the forefront again and it wouldn’t be that bad if he just caught a quick nap, right? Stiles closes his eyes. He can hear Derek shouting something, but he just sinks into the abyss.

 

_Things shift, ever changing, softer and warm._

A week later finds Stiles at home. By himself. Again. Right now, he’s fighting the urge to scratch at his arms. Derek managed to get Stiles to Deaton in time for Deaton to work his magic, but Stiles still has healing gouges and burns lining his forearms and, man, do scabs itch.

 

He’s on strict bed rest; anything else will aggravate his wounds too much, but Stiles can’t resist Sherlock, so he’s trying to get his laptop to set up Netflix when Derek climbs through his window.

 

“Hey, sourwolf. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve been benched. Whatever researching needs you have must be dealt with in other ways.” Stiles manages to set his laptop on his bed and is now trying to set up his pillows without moving his arms. Needless to say, it’s not going so well.

 

“You’re not supposed to be moving your arms.” Derek frowns. The crease is between his brows again, and Stiles has to consciously stop himself from staring and trying to dissect the expression.

 

“Well, unless you wanna set everything up for me, I’m gonna have to…” Derek snatches the pillows out of Stiles’ hands and puts them against his headboard, stacked so he could lean back and still see his laptop. “Okay, or you could set everything up for me…” Stiles trails off, moving to scratch the back of his head but abruptly stopping due to an irritated/painful stretch of the still healing skin.

 

“So, uh, how are you doing?” Derek is staring intently at his feet.

 

“I’m good. Uh, how are you doing?” Derek scoffs. “I’ll take that as good.” The duo falls into an uneasy silence. Stiles studies Derek’s face, default frown in place but otherwise relaxed. Derek clears his throat.

 

“Well, I guess I ought to be-”

 

“Do you wanna stay?” Stiles blurts out. He feels heat swell in his cheeks. He really has no filter. “I mean, I was just about to watch Sherlock for the millionth time, but it’s always more fun watching with someone else. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I mean, if you have something better, then I’d totally understand not wanting to like hang out and watch Netflix with me, and I’m going to shut up now.” His cheeks are on fire now. They must be. His face is going to burn off.

 

Derek’s silent for a minute, eyes dragging, studying his face. Suddenly, Derek strips off his ridiculous leather jacket—really Derek? In September?—and bends to take off his shoes. Stiles slowly gets on his bed and leans against the pillows that Derek set up. Derek follows him, equally cautious, and motions to the laptop. Stiles nods, and Derek maneuvers it so it’s places between them and presses play.

 

_Comfortable like being wrapped in a blanket, safe like coming home._

 

“Derek? You home?” Stiles calls through the seemingly empty loft. Stiles has a paper due for English on Friday, and for some reason, Derek’s an English buff so Stiles thought he could bribe Derek with his favorite In-N-Out burger to help him.

 

There’s a lot of things that Stiles has learned in the past two months of hanging out like the fact that Derek actually owns all the Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings books, each of which are well worn. And that he eats his grilled cheese with ketchup. And that Derek has a stack of Batman comics that would make a collector weep with envy. Stiles hears a groan coming from upstairs, so he throws his keys, the take out bag full of food, and his stuff on the counter before rushing up the stairs.

 

Stiles finds Derek laying in bed, face down and cuddling a pillow to his chest in the middle of a spot of sunlight. Stiles smiles. Even after all the time they’ve spent together lately, Stiles never sees Derek this relaxed. Not the time Stiles dragged Derek to go see the Avengers 2 with him or the time Derek took him to an old school arcade that he used to go to as a kid two towns over or even the time that Stiles showed up in the middle of the night unable to sleep so they spent the night at the preserve looking at constellations.

 

Derek reaches out a hand and pats the spot next to him on the bed, so Stiles takes off his hoodie and shoes and climbs onto the bed. His paper can wait.

 

_No matter the rough times…_

“Dude, why does it smell like you’ve rolled in Derek?” It’s the next day, and Scott has decided to hang out with Stiles, like the old days. They’re playing the newest Call of Duty game and killing some zombies.

 

“I went over to the loft yesterday to see if he could help me out with my paper for Bahoriches’ class. Did you know that-”

 

“-I don’t mean just today, man. I mean, like, lately. Every time I see you, I get an overwhelming charge of Derek coming off of you.” Scott pauses the game and turns to look at Stiles.

 

“I mean we hang out.” Stiles shrugs.

 

“Really.” Scott stares at him disbelievingly.

 

“Yeah, really. What else would it be?” Stiles asks sharply.

 

“Nothing, bro. It just seems a lot closer than ‘hanging out,’ ya know? You just always seem to be with him.” Ha. He’s one to talk.

 

“It’s not like that, dude.” Stiles says quickly. It’s not like he’d be against the idea. Derek has a dry sense of humor that speaks to Stiles on a spiritual level, and he’s a closet nerd, which Stiles totally digs, but Stiles knows that Derek wouldn’t go for him. Who would? Scott shrugs, turns back to the game and unpauses it.

 

“Hey, man, did you see the awesome shot I got by Isaac today at practice?”

 

_…You know you love him, and he you._

“Derek?” Stiles is pounding on the loft door. He hasn’t heard from Derek in two weeks, he hasn’t responded to any of Stiles’ texts or calls, and now he’s not answering his door. And Stiles knows that he’s home because the Camaro is in the parking lot, and the spare key is absent from the notch above the door. “Derek, come on, man. Open up! I know you’re in there. You got me worried man.” Stiles trails off.

 

He doesn’t know what he did. The last time they talked, they were discussing the recent timestamps of Harry Potter that’s been released, so it’s not like they got into a fight or anything. Stiles plops down in front of the door and rests his back against it.

 

“Dude, I don’t know what I did, but could you please let me know you’re alright?” He waits a beat. Nothing. Stiles allows his head to fall against the door with an audible _bang_. He picks his head up and then allows it to fall again. And again. And again.

 

Stiles is then jolted when he hears the lock unlatch and the door’s whipped open. Derek’s stood in front of him in nothing but sweatpants and a fierce glare that Stiles hasn’t seen in quite a while.

 

“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek sounds weary, almost defeated.

 

“I haven’t heard from you in a while, dude. What’s up?”

 

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek glares at him. Stiles’ mouth dropped.

 

“What the hell? I don’t hear from you in two weeks and now you’re being a dick again? What crawled up your ass and died?” Stiles pushes his way into the loft. Derek runs a hand through his hair and closes the door.

 

Facing the door still, Derek says, “Maybe I was sick of just hanging out.” That brings Stiles up short.

 

“You… You don’t wanna hang out anymore?” Stiles should’ve known that it was too good to be true. He should be glad it lasted as long as it did, right? Derek shakes his head and turns around to look at Stiles, face completely blank now.

 

“No, I don’t wanna hang out anymore.” Stiles’ shoulders drop, and Derek takes a step closer to him. They’re now about five feet apart.

 

“You could’ve just told me, dude. I would’ve understood.” Stiles tries to keep the hurt out of his voice, he really does, but it’s kind of hard when it feels like his heart just dropped into his stomach.

 

“Stiles, I don’t want to hang out anymore.” He takes a step closer to Stiles. “I don’t want to be your friend anymore.” Another step, closing the gap to a foot. “I don’t want you to tell me about how great Lydia is or how Danny asked you to the Jungle this Friday or how you think the cashier at the comic book shop is going to ask you out.” Another step, now they’re chest to chest. “I want to be the one to take you out. I want to be more than just your friend, okay? And when-”

 

Stiles cuts Derek off by kissing him. It’s a bit too dry, a bit too chaste, and Stiles’ lips are chapped, and it’s the best kiss Stiles could’ve asked for. Stiles rests his forehead on Derek’s shoulder.

 

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles breathes. He looks up at Derek and sees a bewildered look.

 

“But. I came over that day when you and Scott were hanging out. You told Scott that we were ‘just hanging out,’ and that it ‘wasn’t like that.’” Stiles laughs, full on belly laugh. God, they were idiots. Stiles wipes away a tear from how hard he was laughing and looks at Derek. He’s glaring at Stiles, but it’s softer than the one he had earlier.

 

“Care to share?”

 

“Just because I said it wasn’t like that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it to be like that. Idiot.” Derek rolls his eyes. He leans down and kisses Stiles. Soft, warm, mouths sliding together like they were meant for each other, arms clinging to each other adamant to not let go.

 

_After all, if love is not madness, it is not love._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped you enjoyed it! And Happy Secret Santa Season!
> 
> Feel free to stop by my Tumblr: sydburf.tumblr.com


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